Perfect Pretenders
by La-Reveuse-Nevara
Summary: Lindir's not exactly happy with the way things are, but he's content to leave them that way. Yes his job is hugely demanding, and yes, he's in love with someone that only vaguely acknowledges his existence. But he's fine. That is, until a chance meeting with a Mirkwood guard threatens to change everything.


Lindir sighed and rubbed his eyes, squinting in the fading candle light.

Normally, he would have finished hours ago, but it was a busy time, and busy times meant paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork.

There was a delegation arriving from Mirkwood for, among other things, trade negotiations. That meant there had to be extra food, extra kindling, extra candles and of course extra wine. That meant that it had to be ordered, paid for and signed for, and every single piece of paper had to be kept and filed.

He liked his job as Lord Elrond's personal assistant, but the job could be demanding.

Not that he minded, he'd do anything for his Lord, in a strictly professional capacity of course.

That was all he would ever get. Their relationship was a practical one and nothing beyond that. Someone of Elrond's standing would never stoop to trifle with mere servants, definitely not with the orphaned son of a wine merchant.

But Lindir could dream, and dream he did.

"Lindir?"

He startled out of his reverie, turning to see Erestor. A frisson of surprise went through him. Erestor looked absolutely exhausted. Large smudges of black ink dotted his hands; messy strands of hair escaping from his intricate braids. He was clutching a sheaf of paper close to his chest.

"Why are you still here? You were supposed to finish three hours ago" He said bluntly. Lindir shifted uncomfortably under his flinty gaze, "I found that these hadn't been filed, so I thought I should-"

"That is unnecessary; I'll get Carandín to do it tomorrow morning" snapped Erestor. Although Lindir tried to control his reaction, he must have flinched, because Erestor's face softened slightly.

"You should sleep; I can't have you fainting at your desk again"

Lindir nodded and began gathering his papers into a neat pile. He couldn't stand having a messy desk.

* * *

This was slightly hypocritical, considering the state his room was in.

It was a small south-facing room with one window that faced gardens. The hastily-made bed was pushed against a wall, across from an overflowing oak chest of drawers. His beloved harp leaned against the window sill, an avalanche of notes surrounding it. His flute rested on the chest of drawers, next to its case. A small dressing table and mirror completed the room.

He didn't spend much time in here. Every time Lindir came in he made a mental note to clean up, which was always forgotten the minute he left. He picked his way across the floor, and changed into his sleep clothes.

He got into bed and curled onto his side. Tired to the bone, he tried in vain to sleep.

His weary thoughts wandered in an aimless spiral. There was a myriad of things that had yet to be done, and the delegation was due tomorrow. While punctuality wasn't numbered among Thranduil's virtues, he had a nasty habit of turning up when he wasn't wanted. Knowing Lindir's luck, they'd be here at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. If Thranduil's lofty expectations weren't met, it'd reflect poorly on Lindir and the other staff, not to mention the way it would reflect on Elrond.

The thought of that affected Lindir more than he wanted to admit.

Elrond was capable of making any situation advantageous; it was laughable to think he'd ever need Lindir's help. Yet Lindir so badly wanted to give it.

He'd felt like this for a while now. It had begun harmlessly, an innocuous little crush, a little bit of hero worship. Elrond was a handsome figure, who wouldn't be in love with him a little?

But the crush lingered, burrowed into his chest and grew. A flush would creep up the back of his neck when Elrond touched his shoulder. He would go to speak, and go blank when he caught Elrond's eyes.

He collected a patchwork of little smiles and touches and guarded it jealously.

His daydreams grew to resemble the pulpy romance novels that Erestor vehemently denied reading.

He hadn't told anyone, for fear it would get back to Elrond and that things would be ruined. If Elrond never rejected him, Lindir could still imagine that the answer would be yes.

* * *

He woke at dawn, and found he could not go back to sleep.

He decided to make a start on getting ready. If he was already awake, he might as well.

Lindir pulled himself out of bed, shivering as the cold morning air hit his skin.

He groaned when he saw his despondent reflection. His hair resembled the spines of a furze bush. The dark circles under his eyes were even darker than usual. There was a spot on his nose that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.

Great.

There wasn't much he could do about the dark circles under his eyes, so he set to work on his hair. He grabbed a wide-tooth comb and began brushing out the tangles, wincing when it snagged. He then braided it back, securing it with copper beads.

With his hair taken care of, he got dressed.

Standing in front of his mirror, he gave himself a once-over.

The burgundy robes were a little too long, but they were new. With the burnished copper beads glinting against the rich colour, the effect was flattering. It managed to diminish the pallor of his face, while emphasising his dark hair.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the mirror.

He was ready.

* * *

As he watched the Elves of Mirkwood enter, he searched for one among them. His younger brother Meludir had gone to Mirkwood to train as an archer. He'd loved it so much that he'd decided to stay.

He kept in contact as much as he could. He wrote enthusiastic letters about anything and everything. His friends, the wild parties they weren't supposed to have. The complicated tangle of relationships among the Mirkwood Guards.

The occasional battles with giant spiders.

It was a dangerous, but it was a living.

He was cut off from his musings by the blur of caramel hair that slammed into him.

"Lindir!" his brother had a surprisingly tight grip. Lindir felt all the air leave his body as Meludir's arms constricted, his face now pressed into his brother's shoulder. "I'm so happy to see you again!"

"You won't be seeing me for much longer if you don't let me breathe" Lindir wheezed. The iron grip around him loosened.

Meludir laughed and stepped back to give him some space. "You don't seem to have changed a bit, although you're definitely shorter than last time I saw you" he grinned.

"Well you haven't changed a bit" Lindir smiled and meant it. It was a relief that his brother's cheerful personality hadn't dimmed.

A tall elf tapped Meludir on the shoulder, "Meludir, Calen will have a fit if she sees that you're not there"

"Can I have a minute Feren?"

"No. She's on the warpath. Someone managed to lose half of our arrows" Feren grimaced.

"They're for it now" Meludir chuckled.

"I certainly don't envy them myself" A small smile twitched at the edge of Feren's lips.

He caught Lindir's eye, and his smile widened. He nodded politely, and Lindir nodded back. His face was pleasant, with a strong jaw line, and dark hooded eyes that gave him a stern expression.

"Well I must take my leave of you for now, but I'll try to see you again" Meludir sighed, clasping Lindir's shoulder. Lindir nodded, smothering his regret, "There's a feast in the Hall of Fire tonight, and I'll be there. I might see you then"

He gave Feren a quick nod, before he turned around and melted into the heaving crowd.

Meludir looked to Feren "Come on, if Calen is as furious as you say she is, we should go now"

Feren watched Lindir leave, "Yeah, let's go"

* * *

"Who was that you were talking to?" Feren asked Meludir as they wove through the bustling crowd. "My brother Lindir, why?" Meludir replied, craning his neck to try and find their squadron. "I was curious, that's all" Feren was nonchalant, "I didn't know you two were so close in age"

"What do you mean?" His friend looked askance at him. "It was just the way you talked about him; I always thought he was much older than you" Feren said, placing a hand on Meludir's shoulder to avoid losing him in the crowd. "He's too sensible for his own good, always has been" Meludir's voice was deliberately light.

Feren went to ask him what he meant, but the question died in his throat as Calen strode toward them with a thunderous look on her face. A shiver went through Meludir as her flinty glare pinned him to the spot. Calen's anger was something that nobody in the guard wanted to face alone and he suddenly realised why Feren had come to find him.

Meludir hissed through gritted teeth, "You lost the arrows didn't you"

"Well technically we lost them, you were supposed to be helping me" Feren hissed back, sweat beading the back of his neck as Calen got closer.

"She can't murder us both right?" Meludir's voice trembled slightly.

"Not in front of so many witnesses, I think we're safe for now" Feren murmured.


End file.
